oil painting

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Sorry about the very long delay since the last post. That’s for two reasons:
  • I’ve been very busy with work, help­ing to raise a three year old, and tak­ing an online grad­u­ate course.
  • I’ve been fin­ish­ing up the large com­mis­sion I started over the sum­mer, and I have allowed that to kind of block my abil­ity to do other paint­ing. That’s just about done, how­ever, so it’s time to move on.

I had a whole day off today, so I took the oppor­tu­nity to start a new painting.

Layover

This is “Lay­over.” It’s 20 × 20”, oil on linen primed with lead white, toned with red earth and raw umber. This is a mono­chro­matic underpainting—a grisaille—which will be glazed over once it’s dry. I used var­i­ous mix­tures of Doak’s flake 1c and Nat­ural Pig­ments black earth (an iron oxide black).

The key is a lit­tle too dark for opti­mal glaz­ing (since glazes tends to darken what they cover). That means I’ll need to paint into the glaze with white to get the lights up.

I’ll keep you posted on this, and I’ll try not to let such a long time pass before putting up other stuff. Unfor­tu­nately, post­ing will prob­a­bly be inter­mit­tent for the fore­see­able future.

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Here’s a pic­ture of what I’m work­ing on. It’s oil on can­vas, a lit­tle over five feet tall, so it stretches the lim­its of what I can put on my tri­pod easel. The pic­ture is pretty awful, because it’s hard to pho­to­graph an oil paint­ing this size with­out a lot of glare.

New JeansThis is a com­mis­sioned piece. The cus­tomer wants a paint­ing of this pair of jeans (sup­plied by him) against a black back­ground. We went back and forth on the com­po­si­tion, even­tu­ally set­tling on mak­ing it look as if they were being worn by an invis­i­ble per­son. That entailed hir­ing a model to wear the jeans as I paint, since I’m pretty bad at work­ing from photos.

As you can see, I’m work­ing my way down. I mixed and tubed a base color and applied that as an ini­tial dead col­or­ing layer. I am work­ing on top of that. Right now, the jeans are hung in midair so that I can paint the inside parts. The cus­tomer wanted to cap­ture the iconic nature of Levis 501’s, so the inside tags—especially the one that will have a bright red 501 on it—are important.

I’ll try to post bet­ter pic­tures later on.

I like how it’s com­ing at the moment. In some ways this is an inter­est­ing and excit­ing project, and in oth­ers it will be really good to get this done, as it also rep­re­sents a block on my other work.

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So lately I’ve been stretch­ing and prim­ing a large (5 × 3.5 feet) linen can­vas, along with a cou­ple of smaller ones. A few obser­va­tions (learned in part from hav­ing to cor­rect mistakes):
  • The eas­i­est way to stretch a large can­vas evenly seems to be to put it on the stretcher unprimed, some­what loosely. How loose? Put the can­vas on the floor flat under the stretcher. Tack the edges of the can­vas to the back of the stretcher with­out pulling. You then size it with a thin layer of hide glue. The glue tight­ens the can­vas. If you do it right, the can­vas is taut with no wrin­kles. This is eas­ier than try­ing to get it right using can­vas pli­ers and try­ing to make the ten­sion even across the whole canvas.
  • I like using reg­u­lar office thumb tacks ini­tially, fol­lowed by sta­ples or cop­per tacks when you know you’ve got the ten­sion exactly right.
  • The lead oil primer made by Nat­ural Pig­ments is very easy to apply. It is much less vis­cous than other oil primers I’ve tried. That means you don’t have to thin it and it’s less likely to get all over the place. It dries to the touch very fast. A poten­tial down­side is that it doesn’t tend to fill the weave of the can­vas like thicker primers do.
  • It’s good prac­tice to rub the sur­face of the can­vas lightly with a pumice stone before siz­ing in order to open the fibers up some­what to accept the glue. If you do this, how­ever, you will cre­ate small blobs of fab­ric in places. After prim­ing, you’ll need to wet sand or use a knife to cut these away.
  • Upper Canada Stretch­ers makes really good stretch­ers. Check out the dis­counts for good deals.

Tad Spur­geon has an excel­lent sum­mary arti­cle on his views regard­ing sound oil paint­ing practice.

Because the struc­ture of an oil paint­ing is inher­ently com­plex, it’s always best to attempt keep both it and its var­i­ous com­po­nents as sim­ple as pos­si­ble. How­ever, this ele­ment of sim­plic­ity should not nec­es­sar­ily extend to pur­chas­ing ready-made mate­ri­als if the hope or expec­ta­tion is to cre­ate higher qual­ity work: generic mate­ri­als have a strong ten­dency to pro­duce generic work. While bou­tique mate­ri­als are usu­ally higher qual­ity, this is not nec­es­sar­ily the case with the oil. And they still don’t impart the vital infor­ma­tion about the nuts and bolts of the craft: at the end of the day, there is no real process, just a set of pur­chases, a pseudo-craft.

Go read the whole thing.

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Some­times, you need the high­est value high­light that it is pos­si­ble to get in paint. Other times, you need a dark accent that is as low in value as you can get. Beecause paint doesn’t have any­thing like the dynamic range of human vision, it’s good in real­is­tic paint­ing to have as wide as range as you can. Small dif­fer­ences can some­times be important.

The whitest white I’ve been able to find is “radi­ant white” by Gam­blin. It’s tita­nium white in poppy oil. Most of the time I pre­fer paints ground in lin­seed or wal­nut, but for this pur­pose it makes sense to use the whitest pos­si­ble pig­ment and the most col­or­less binder avail­able. I’m still paint­ing out test strips on a neu­tral gray back­ground, but I’d guess it’s a quar­ter Mun­sell value step than the next bright­est tita­nium white I’ve played with. I’ll use it only when I need a very light highlight.

The dark­est black I have is Williams­burg intense black. The pig­ment is listed as “car­bon from gas flame.” The back label says: “warn­ing: very slow dry­ing.” It is just notice­ably darker than bone (“ivory”) black. The slow dry­ing can be com­pen­sated for some­what with a drier such as lead napthen­ate. I will use it only for dark accents at the very last stage of paint­ing, so dry­ing time for this par­tic­u­lar paint is not that impor­tant for me.

Update

2 May 2009:_ There’s a small high­light that I had pre­vi­ously painted in Old Hol­land tita­nium white. It’s light reflected from the shiny metal part of a clothes hangar. In real life this high­light is very notice­able, but on the paint­ing, sur­rounded by rel­a­tively light tones, it did not stand out at all. I recently painted it in using pure Gam­blin radi­ant white. It is notice­ably brighter than before—giving an effect that is much more like what I was try­ing to depict.

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I strug­gled quite a bit with this one. That’s largely because of the very strong value con­trasts, the large areas of sub­tle darks, and because it’s not easy get­ting the right chroma in that hue of red in the lights. The paint­ing looks good in fairly bright light, but flat­tens out in dim­mer light.

Red Laces,” oil on can­vas, 11 × 14”.

Red Laces

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Here’s a recent paint­ing; I thought I might pro­vide some detail on how it was made.

This is “New­bury Street,” oil on panel, 20 × 20”. Many artists shy away from the square pic­ture for­mat, because it can be hard to achieve a dynamic com­po­si­tion within such a sta­ble frame. I worked on over­com­ing that within a sim­ple “bulls­eye” com­po­si­tion with a bit of ten­sion between the jacket and its shadow. I think I suc­ceeded fairly well with that.

The panel, which I had primed with lead white, had been cur­ing for more than six months. Dif­fer­ent sources sug­gest dif­fer­ent amounts of time to let an oil ground cure; any­where from a cou­ple of weeks to sev­eral months. I can say that this well-cured sur­face was excel­lent to work on.

Click on a thumb­nail to see the full-sized image.

I started with an under­paint­ing using a mix­ture of raw umber mixed with a small amount of Stu­dio Prod­ucts Tus­can red (a bright iron oxide pig­ment). Unusu­ally for me, I used the wipe­out tech­nique for the under­paint­ing. I did that by smear­ing on a bunch of thinned paint in any given area, then wip­ing it back. I used a mix­ture of min­eral spir­its and lin­seed oil, with a bit of turps. Then I used a bris­tle bright brush to wipe the paint back. A bright is good for this because the short bris­tles allow for easy scrub­bing. The idea is to wipe the paint away, let­ting the white ground show through in the lights and let­ting the paint stay thick in the darks.

Nor­mally, I avoid the wipe out tech­nique because I don’t think that thin­ning paint down a lot is a good idea—it can gen­er­ate a paint layer that is not prop­erly bound in the oil vehi­cle. How­ever, because the oil primed sur­face was smooth and not absorbent, I found that I only needed to thin the paint down just a bit in order to use the wipe out method effec­tively. It allowed me to eas­ily get the struc­ture of the paint­ing down quickly and eas­ily, and to cor­rect errors eas­ily using a rag dipped in thin­ner. Because there was some lin­seed oil in the thin­ner, the final result was a sur­face that was clearly well-bound, as I could not eas­ily scratch it with a fin­ger­nail or rub any pig­ment off.

Once that was dry (within a day, due to the sicca­tive prop­er­ties of the raw umber), I painted in the back­ground and shadow. That took a few days to dry. Then I applied a very thin layer of Stu­dio Prod­ucts glaz­ing medium to the sur­face of the paint­ing and began work­ing my way over the paint­ing, attempt­ing to paint some­thing close to the final effect in each area before mov­ing on to the next. That took sev­eral paint­ing sessions.

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I used to think that lead white dries quickly in oil and pro­motes dry­ing when it is a com­po­nent of mix­tures. It’s true that lead white dries faster than tita­nium white, which is a slow drier, but it is really just nor­mal in over­all dry­ing speed.

This has been illus­trated for me this week. The back­ground of the paint­ing I’m work­ing on is a gra­da­tion of mostly lead white to lead white with a fair bit of raw umber. Raw umber dries quickly and pro­motes dry­ing when it is a com­po­nent of any mix­ture. Over the course of sev­eral days, I’ve observed the paint­ing dry pro­gres­sively from one edge to the other—the more raw umber, the faster the dry­ing. The lead white part of the paint­ing has not dried quickly at all.

Mod­ern lead whites are made with a pig­ment called “basic lead car­bon­ate.” His­tor­i­cally, lead whites were less pure. They con­tained basic lead car­bon­ate, as well as other lead com­pounds that do dry fairly quickly. So older lead whites, such as those made using the tra­di­tional stack process, would likely act as dri­ers. It may be that if you bought some stack process lead white from Nat­ural Pig­ments and mulled it with oil, you’d have a fast dry­ing white.

Other than that, you can make lead white dry more quickly by adding a small amount of lead napthen­ate or other drier, just as with any other oil paint. Or you can mix in some umber.

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This is done. I changed the name from “Two Dresses” to “The Other Woman.” It just seemed to need a more evoca­tive title. Oil on panel, 24 × 18”.

"The Other Woman," oil on panel, 24 x 18"

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If you haven’t run across it already, I’d sug­gest you take a look at this demon­stra­tion of the “form paint­ing” method by Tony Ryder. It’s pretty close to the pro­ce­dure I learned from Den­nis Cheaney. Den­nis and Tony are both stu­dents of Ted Seth Jacobs. (I should be clear that I have no con­nec­tion to Tony Ryder what­so­ever, and I have only met Ted Seth Jacobs once.)

The method pro­ceeds through sev­eral stages.

Poster Study

This is a small paint­ing (5 × 7” or so) done quickly, to develop an over­all sense of what the final com­po­si­tion will look like. It is painted entirely in big blobs of color, with no detail and no gra­da­tions (i.e., no blend­ing). Each blob rep­re­sents the over­all aver­age color of a big shape, such as the hair of the sub­ject of a por­trait. It’s best to do a lot of squint­ing while com­plet­ing a poster study. Poster stud­ies never look good enough to dis­play as sep­a­rate works of art, as stud­ies by some artists do. If it looks that good, you didn’t do it right.

The poster study allows you to solve a lot of paint­ing prob­lems before­hand. You quickly come to under­stand your com­po­si­tion in a way that thumb­nail sketches do not allow. You see color har­monies evolve and fig­ure out how you are going to mix most of the col­ors you will need. Lots of mis­takes can be caught in this man­ner before you ever touch the final paint­ing. Once you start, the poster study becomes a ref­er­ence to refer to as the final paint­ing progresses.

Under­draw­ing

The next stage is draw­ing the forms on the can­vas (which is white, not toned). Tony does this in vine char­coal, then inks in the under­draw­ing in diluted paint. Den­nis some­times also had us do this in dilute paint from the start. The idea behind the draw­ing is to lin­early delin­eate all of the impor­tant forms through­out the paint­ing, with a high degree of detail. All the impor­tant deci­sions about place­ment, shape, and struc­ture are made in this stage.

Note that you must be able to draw accu­rately for this to work. Then again, if you can’t draw well, there isn’t really much point to try­ing to paint realistically.

Color Wash

The next stage is what Den­nis calls the “color wash” and Tony calls the “wash in.” It involves appli­ca­tion of diluted paint to the can­vas, approx­i­mat­ing the final color. Although Tony doesn’t men­tion it, Den­nis empha­sized that you should never use white when doing the wash in. This is a trans­par­ent appli­ca­tion of paint in a man­ner sim­i­lar to water­color, in that the lights are gen­er­ated by the white of the can­vas. The entire can­vas is cov­ered in the wash-in, so that vir­tu­ally none of of it ends up pure white. While the level of detail is not as high as in the final paint­ing, the wash-in gets pretty detailed. In his demo, Tony says this:

The wash-in helps solve many of the prob­lems that we would oth­er­wise encounter if we were to paint a fin­ished paint­ing directly on white can­vas. One such prob­lem has to do with know­ing whether or not the col­ors we’re apply­ing to the paint­ing are indeed the ones we want. Col­ors, by them­selves, are never right or wrong. They can only be judged in their tonal con­text, i.e., in the paint­ing itself. That con­text is never fully real­ized until the paint­ing is done. Con­se­quently, while the paint­ing is in progress there is always a degree of uncer­tainty involved in the choice of col­ors. How­ever, we can take steps to lessen the degree of uncertainty.

Form Paint­ing

Den­nis also calls this “paint­ing opaquely.” Over the color wash, you start in one area and slowly cre­ate the final appear­ance of the pic­ture. You can now begin to use white, which is part of what makes this stage opaque (you also stop dilut­ing the paint to a watery con­sis­tency). This is called a “win­dow shade” tech­nique because you attempt to cre­ate the final appear­ance of one area of the paint­ing, move to an adja­cent area, do the same thing, and con­tinue. The paint­ing appears slowly, as if pulling up a win­dow shade. The pro­ce­dure is there­fore basi­cally a direct paint­ing method, applied over the wash-in (which has dried very quickly because it was applied so thinly). It may take many days to com­plete the paint­ing, but each sec­tion is fin­ished before you move on to the next. (Cor­rec­tions are allowed, of course, but the goal is to not have to do any.)


This is not how I actu­ally paint nowa­days, although there are strong sim­i­lar­i­ties. I am often too lazy to do a poster study, although it would be a good idea. My under­draw­ings are usu­ally done in paint, not char­coal. I almost always tone the sur­face rather than paint on a white ground. Because I don’t like to dilute paint to that degree (I am con­cerned about its tech­ni­cal sound­ness), I don’t do a color wash. I do at times delib­er­ately work in lay­ers rather than directly.

This is an effec­tive way to paint real­is­ti­cally, how­ever, and I may go back to these roots more over time.


Update

30 Novem­ber 2008: I should also note the strong oppo­si­tion to work­ing from pho­tos that pro­po­nents of this approach espouse. All work is done from life or from the imag­i­na­tion, never with mechan­i­cal aids and never from pho­tos. I myself find pho­tos to be pretty bad sources of infor­ma­tion to use for real­ist art, although I am not nearly so opposed as Jacobs and his direct stu­dents are to “cheating.”

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In com­ments, Julius writes:

David: In the beau­ti­ful work you show on your gallery, are most of the effects achieved with your “thick glaz­ing” tech­nique? I have been exper­i­ment­ing with thin glazes and have run into prob­lems at every turn. For exam­ple: How to achieve an intense red or orange, since cad­mium col­ors are out? How to glaze thinly and be able to do fab­rics and table­cloths — espe­cially in light col­ors? How to do a light color ceramic bowl (as in one of yours)? Maybe you could speak in detail about the work in your gallery…

Thanks for the kind words, Julius. Glaz­ing is not my pri­mary oil paint­ing tech­nique.* I tend to paint fairly opaquely most of the time, attempt­ing to achieve the final look of each pas­sage before mov­ing to the next. I’m not dog­matic about that, how­ever, and will go back over a pas­sage, opaquely or trans­par­ently, if I didn’t get it right the first time.

I do use glaz­ing for spe­cific pur­poses. For exam­ple, the back­ground of the self por­trait in the gallery is yel­low ochre glazed over white. Although YO is usu­ally thought of as rather dull, its under­tone has a very dif­fer­ent character—much higher in chroma and value. That’s one great use of glaz­ing: to avoid “chalk­i­ness” (low­ered chroma) at high values.

As far as intense red or orange, here’s how that was done his­tor­i­cally. Start by paint­ing that spe­cific pas­sage in a flat opaque color sim­i­lar to your desired final hue. For exam­ple, you could use cad­mium red light (his­tor­i­cally, this would have been ver­mil­ion, which behaves sim­i­larly to cad red). Let it dry. Then glaze over it with a sim­i­lar trans­par­ent color such as alizarin crim­son (which is fugi­tive) or pyrol ruby (which is not). Make this sec­ond color thick where you want it dark and thin where you want mid­tones or lights. If desired, paint into the lights with the same or sim­i­lar col­ors mixed with white. Let it dry. If the darks are not dark enough, apply another layer of glaze to those areas, per­haps dark­ened with another trans­par­ent color such as ultra­ma­rine blue. Over two or three lay­ers, you can get the darks as strong as you like, in a higher chroma than you can get with­out glaz­ing. I’ve tried this, and it works. For orange, you are lim­ited in glaz­ing col­ors, but hansa yel­low mixed with any of the mod­ern trans­par­ent organic reds or crim­sons can work.

Does this method allow you to get any color you wish? No, it does not. You are lim­ited to avail­able shades of trans­par­ent pig­ments. But the Old Mas­ters were even more lim­ited, and they didn’t make junk.

As for fab­rics, this method works quite well if you have the patience for it. Be pre­pared to go back into the lights, while the glaze layer is still wet, with opaque col­ors mixed with white.

Ceram­ics are easy. For a white ceramic glazed with blue, just paint the object with­out the blue and allow to dry. Ultra­ma­rine or other semi-transparent blues glazed on top are quite con­vinc­ing (that’s how I did the ceramic cup in the “Three Cher­ries” paint­ing in my gallery).

This would be eas­ier to show than to tell, but I hope this is helpful.


*In part that’s due to the influ­ence of my teacher, Den­nis Cheaney. Den­nis is a stu­dent of Ted Set Jacobs, who long ago rejected glaz­ing in his own paint­ing method, because he believes it makes it more dif­fi­cult to pre­cisely con­trol hue, value, and chroma. I don’t paint the same way that Den­nis and Ted do (nor nearly as well), but the vast major­ity of my for­mal instruc­tion has been in a direct paint­ing style.

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Wipe

So tonight I’m work­ing on my “White Shirt” paint­ing. I spend a good hour on the most detailed part of the piece—the hangar hook and its shadow. I do a really nice job, with small brushes, get­ting each curve and the flash of metal just right. Detailed, but not too fussy. Then I step back.

I’ve made an error. The hook is too small. It looks almost right, but not quite.

I sit for a minute, then take a rag dipped in turps and wipe it off the paint­ing. You need to be will­ing to do that some­times, just as an author needs to be able to delete a won­drous chap­ter that just doesn’t work with the rest of the novel. If it’s not right, it has to go, no mat­ter how much you like it.

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My for­mer art teacher, Den­nis Cheaney, is a real­ist painter and a stu­dent of Ted Seth Jacobs. I learned a lot from Den­nis and wish I could still study with him. He con­cep­tu­al­ized the process of oil paint­ing in sev­eral ways, one of which has really stuck with me.

Gen­er­ally, when ren­der­ing form, you mix up var­i­ous col­ors of paint and put them into the right places on the sur­face of the paint­ing. I like to use nat­ural bris­tle and syn­thetic flats for this. Some artists stop there and get a cer­tain kind of styl­ized look. But in the aca­d­e­mic real­ist tra­di­tion, there is another step, which Den­nis calls “shap­ing the light.”

For this you use a dry soft brush. Not a fan blender, which is too wide for the kind of focused work we’re talk­ing about here. Shap­ing the light involves slowly and del­i­cately adjust­ing each patch of paint to con­form to the way that light falls across it. How does the light flow across a fore­arm, for exam­ple? What is the rate of gra­da­tion? Is there a sharp change in value as the light moves from one form to another, or is it grad­ual? What is the shape of each patch of light as it flows from one pas­sage to another? How hard or soft is each edge, at each point? As you work across each sec­tion, you stroke, clean the brush with a rag, stroke, and con­tinue. If you need the color to be excep­tion­ally clean, then you might switch to a fresh brush to avoid con­t­a­m­i­na­tion while shap­ing. This process is more than just blend­ing, which you can do with­out really even look­ing at the sub­ject. It requires just as much obser­va­tion as you need when apply­ing paint.

Den­nis sug­gested tak­ing about half the time you spend in mix­ing and apply­ing paint, and about half in shap­ing the light. You can do that in two dis­crete stages in a ses­sion, or move back and forth between one mode and the other. Either way, you develop a sen­si­tiv­ity to light and a sense of how to con­vinc­ingly ren­der form. Den­nis is far bet­ter at this than I am, but I am start­ing to get a sense for how to do it correctly.

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Here’s what I’m work­ing on now. “White shirt,” oil on panel, 20 × 16”.

White Shirt

I messed up the right sleeve. As was painfully obvi­ous the next day, but some­how didn’t hit me at the time, the shadow color in the right sleeve is too green and too low in chroma. (This may not be clear in the photo you are look­ing at, as these are fairly sub­tle color dis­tinc­tions.) Shad­ows else­where are in the orange and yel­low range, assisted by the earth red tone I had applied on top of the glue-chalk gesso primer. My plan is to let let that sec­tion dry com­pletely while I work on the rest, glaze the shad­ows with trans­par­ent yel­low oxide and trans­par­ent red oxide, and work into that base in order to cor­rect the color.

Other than that, I like it so far, which is rare for me at this point in a paint­ing. It still needs a bunch of fab­ric detail and the hangar needs to be painted in, but it’s basi­cally pro­gress­ing well.

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"Vision of a Knight" (after Raphael)

I did this a cou­ple of years ago. It’s a copy of a small panel paint­ing by Raphael (6.7 × 6.7 inches) at the orig­i­nal size. Wikipedia says this about it (the orig­i­nal, of course):

The Vision of a Knight or The Dream of Sci­pio or Alle­gory is a small egg tem­pera paint­ing on poplar by the Ital­ian Renais­sance artist Raphael, fin­ished in 1504. It is in the National Gallery in Lon­don. It prob­a­bly formed a pair with the Three Graces panel, also 17 cm square, now in the Château de Chan­tilly museum.

The theme is con­tro­ver­sial. Some author­i­ties intend the sleep­ing knight to rep­re­sent the Roman gen­eral Sci­pio Africanus (236184 BC) who was dream­ing to choose between Virtue (behind whom is a steep and rocky path) and Plea­sure (in looser robes). How­ever, the two fem­i­nine fig­ures are not pre­sented as con­tes­tants. They may rep­re­sent the ideal attrib­utes of the knight: the book, sword and flower which they hold sug­gest the ideals of scholar, sol­dier and lover which a knight should combine.

I did it in egg tem­pera with oil glazes. More recent analy­sis by the National Gallery indi­cates that the orig­i­nal was actu­ally an oil paint­ing. Although it is by no means a per­fect copy, I am mostly sat­is­fied, as I think I man­aged to cap­ture some por­tion of the sweet­ness of Raphael’s early work.

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